My dear Novello,—Here we are in absolute quiet, with a real flat place to sit upon, and several foot square of parlour to walk about when one pleases: in short, in lodgings—the rudder of the vessel having been so broken that she cannot set sail, fair wind or foul, till Wednesday evening.
We now, with a rascally selfishness, wish that the wind may not change for a whole week, though the 200 sail in the harbours should be groaning every timber; for though we were much alarmed at first in moving my wife, she already seems wonderfully refreshed by this little taste of shore; and at all events while we do remain at Ramsgate, I am sure it is much better for both of us that we should be here. Only think! we shall have a quiet bed at night, and even air! If we were moving on at sea, it would be another matter; but I confess the idea of lying and lingering in that manner in a muddy harbour was to me, in my state of health, like rotting alive.
When I say, we can go on Wednesday, I do not mean that we shall do so, or that I think we shall; for the wind is still in the west, and I suspect after all these winds, we shall have a good mass of rain to fall, of which they are generally the avant-couriers. What say you then? Will you come and beatify us again? And will Mrs. Novello come with you? Why not give the baby a dip in a warm bath, if they must be still one and indivisible. I think we can get you a bed in the house; if not, there are plenty in the neighbourhood. Pray remember me cordially to the Gliddons, and tell the fair one that her sugar-plums have been a shower of aids and assistance to us with the children. I shall see if I can’t send her something as sweet from Italy. In the meantime I send her and Mrs. Novello, and all of you, the best salutations you can couple with the idea of
